Drafted
by WhiteRosesHaveBlackThorns
Summary: It's 1967. Namine's a hippie, Riku's the vice president of the Drafting Office. What sparks shall fly?


It was 1967 and people were _still_ being drafted.

It'd been happening since Namine was a little girl- 1955. Twelve years. She'd been seven then. Even at such a young age, she was outraged that the government had the ability to just pick out random young men to go to war. There was no sense to it. You'd be killing your own country, scratching your own records, opening healed wounds. Why would you destroy someone's life- commonly so full of promise- so you could kill someone else? It was cruel.

So here she was, nineteen and as strong-willed as ever, painting the drafters' billboard- _I want YOU to join the army!_- red, her tasseled vest swinging in the light autumn wind along with her unkempt blonde hair waving proudly like her own personal flag. Why red? It was the only can of paint she had in her van, the classes 60's Volkswagen, and the thought came so spontaneously she just couldn't delay the task by getting more colors.

Besides. Red was good enough, right? For blood and all. Namine snorted at the idea of painting the billboard white. She sat down on the metal support for the billboard and painted the bottom of the billboard, deciding to rest her legs for a bit. She knew that even if she had enough time, she'd be lucky if she could reach up to the guy's nose. But she hoped passing-by cars would see the red and immediately snap out of whatever trance the government put them in and come join her group singing Beatles tunes and holding endless rallies.

Maybe she dreamt a little too big. At least she could make a statement.

Her arm was just about to go numb and fall off her body when she heard a car pulling to a stop near the billboard. It was just after one in the morning, and only the occasional delivery truck dared to drive on the dark and slippery road. She froze, her back pole-straight, her posture perfect, and her brush held in the midst of a stroke, as if standing still would make her invisible.

She knew it was too late to play Invisible Woman and run off- like she'd done so many times, from her family and from herself- when she felt the bright lights on her back.

"Dammit," she cursed under her breath. She dropped her brush into her paint can and turned to face the headlights of an old 40's police cruiser.

_Must be an oldie fuzz, _she thought. _Easy enough to run away from._ She was shocked, however, when a young man around twenty-one slammed the door shut behind him, his odd silver hair gleaming in the steady stream of rain Namine'd not even noticed.

"Hey you!" he called, shining a flashlight in her eyes. He stepped in front of his car and closer to the billboard, the headlights making it appear like he had a halo over his head. "Hey, flowerchild!"

"Buzz off, old man. I've got work to do!" she shouted back. She boldly turned her back away from him and started painting again.

"First of all, I'm not a cop. But you're still going to have to come with me."

She responded without turning back, not even bothering to raise her voice over the rain,

"Why?"

"Because I'm the vice president of the Drafting Offices."

_Shit! Shit shit shit. Totally _not _groovy!_

She sighed, knowing a defeat when she came across one, and put the lid over her paint. She put the paintbrush in her mouth and slid down the metal ladder, almost crashing onto the ground, but catching herself just in time. She squinted into the bright lights of the man's flash and car lights. He turned the flashlight off.

"What were you doing up there?"

"To the point, eh?" Namine leaned against the ladder, took a cigarette out of her vest pocked, and lit it. She absolutely hated those things, but she'd heard from some kid as a teenybopper that cops respect a flowerchild with a weed in her mouth, and the habit stuck. She kept a pack in her pocket for those unexpected fuzz drop-ins, and her hand had been itching to take one as soon as she felt the light on her back. She tried not to choke as she said,

"I was painting the sign. What'd it look like I was doing? Planting daisies?" Her blue eyes were cold as ice as she looked up from her shoeless feet to the man in front of her. He was dressed in a sort of casual suit, which was strange for one in the morning, but then again, he was a businessman.

She frowned. _So rich so young? Must be his daddy's doing._

Her eyes traveled upward to his face, which was pale, framed by gleaming silver hair and adorned with serious aqua eyes. She knew a few girls who'd kill to have those eyes.

The man stared right back, not in the least intimidated, and had the nerve to grab her by the wrist and pull her towards the car. She slipped her thin hand out of his and slapped him.

"What the hell you think ya doing?" she demanded. His face showed no emotion after the shock wore off.

"I told you'd I'd have to take you in. You were defacing my company's sign. It's my duty, not only as a worker but as a citizen of my country, to report you."

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him for a good minute, taking him in again in the most detail.

"Hm… Tried out to be a cop? They wouldn't allow it because of…" She was walking towards him as she talked, him not moving a muscle. She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked the bags under his eyes. "Grass? Drug experimentation? Swore that one day you'd change the world and followed a gang of my type just to see what 'freedom' was like? Oh, but Daddy didn't like that, did he? Especially not when he saw you, his only son, his pride and joy protesting his own line of work. He forced you back home, gave you a good talking-to, and you just nodded your head like an idiot and told him you'd never do it again." She leaned in close to him, her cheek brushing against his, her lips at his ear. "But you'd sold your soul to the devil."

With that she flung the paint can onto his cruiser and ran off toward where her van was parked.

"HEY!" the man yelled. "Get back here!"

She just laughed and ran, feeling as free as ever. She hopped into the car and slammed it into drive, twisting the key and stomping on the gas pedal. But her luck was out at the first glance of that man's headlights, and her engine sputtered a bit before giving out.

"_Fuck!_" she seethed, banging her head on the tie-dye steering wheel. She heard a tap on her window and looked up to see the man's aqua eyes gleaming with laughter, a smirk _almost _appearing on his face.

"Looks like you're stuck," he said. He opened her door and pulled her out. She just harrumphed and gave up, once again acknowledging defeat. "Guess I'll have to drive you anyway."

She sent him a dead glare that would've made any normal boy run away screaming for mommy. He just chuckled and dragged her by her elbow back to his cruiser.

"If anyone jacks my van," she threatened, "I'll kill you with the rest of those bastards in the Draft Offices."

"Don't worry," he responded almost-cheerily. "No one will want that piece of junk in the way it is now."

She narrowed her eyes and yanked her arm out of his grasp. "Do _not _insult my van."

"You painted my cruiser red. A very pretty red, I must admit, a stunning shade of crimson, but nonetheless unbefitting of a 40's police car. I'll have to add that vandalism to what you already owe the state from that billboard."

"Woo. Oh, happy day," she said sarcastically. The man opened the shotgun door and had the nerve to place a hand on the small of her back, herding her as if she was a sheep. She bucked back her foot, her booting aiming for his crotch, but it missed and she hit his thigh.

"Dammit…" she muttered. He just closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.

"Seatbelt?" he said, looking behind him to back up.

"What?"

"Seat. Belt. Y'know, a belt that goes across a car seat? Something new that often saves lives?"

She just scoffed. "_Those _things? They're just devices used by the government to increase our dependence on them, taking away our freedom."

"Suit yourself."

She spied at him as he drove down the dark highway. He had an odd gleam to his eyes he hadn't had before, something that she recognized in a few of the boys from her high school years.

"Oh, don't tell me," she groaned, allowing a smirk to play across her features. "You simply can't resist my girlish charm and stunning, flowing locks?" She accented the teasing sarcasm by flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Oh dear. I've been found out," he responded dryly. He glanced over at her and chuckled again when he saw her shocked expression. "Just kidding. Jeez. You should master your own game."

She hadn't noticed it before, but they were now idling in the police station's parking lot.

"Fuck you," she spat, getting out of the door and slamming it behind her.

First chapter. Woo! Next one should be soon.

By the way, they're somewhere in America… Not quite sure where yet.


End file.
